http://bit.ly/y7kZ7J

I realize that forty people out of nearly seven billion is a meager few, but still.

I scrolled through the comments and found one from another Chinese kid. It read, “HAPPY NIGGER DAY GUYS.”

I commented, “You’re making all of us look bad.”

Here’s the rest of our conversation:

“Him: Look bad? Racist and proud of it. I’m not ashamed of my beliefs.

Unlike the Idiot below me “jamie strange” who naively thinks it would shame and ridicule people to be identified a racist, I myself find no shame in telling the truth. Niggers are subhuman apes. Deal with it.

Me: I can certainly see that you’re proud of your beliefs. My ancestors and your ancestors, most if not all of whom experienced centuries of racism from people with your mindset, would likely not agree.

Him: Centuries of racism from who? China was the most racist of all. We regarded all foreigners as barbarians, good for nothing except tributes. How else would you ensure regional superiority without actually being superior? We called ourselves the middle kingdom for a reason. Be proud of who you are, and what your ancestors have done, and be glad you were not born black, because we are NOT equal.

Me: I completely agree. China was the most racist of all. We tried to remain closed off to the outside world for as long as we could. This is why our inferior technology lost us Hong Kong in the Opium Wars. Yes, we called ourselves the middle kingdom. Just as humans in the Dark Ages thought the Sun and planets revolved around the Earth, we thought we were at its center.

The color of a person’s skin does not define his or her character. Yes, it may define his or her environment, upbringing, and ideology, but anyone with the advantages of resources, motivation, and ambition can contribute to society. We are all born weak and tiny. We all bleed when cut. A Chinese girl born in a large farming village will have different circumstances than a Chinese boy born as an urban couple’s only son. Thus, simply being born Chinese does not make a person superior. The gap between China’s rich and poor is evidence. This is fact.

I am proud of who I am. My family came to America with no knowledge of its language nor customs. Denied housing, denied jobs, denied acceptance, they persevered and achieved every goal they set. I honor my heritage with every moment of my existence. In fact, I am so proud of being Chinese that I can respect the contributions of people from other societies and cultures and colors without ever losing sight of who I am or from where I have come. I can improve myself without needing to destroy others.

You and I are not the same. We may share our ancestors and the hue of our skin, but I choose to accept the world for all its color and beauty than hide from it. After all, would not monochrome be quite drab?

Him: ‘The color of a person’s skin does not define his or her character.’ When did I say skin colour was the issue? There is a reason every part of the world whether it be entire countries or areas within cities, wherever there are a lot of blacks the place is a filthy, crime filled, disease ridden, poverty stricken, piece of shit, and skin colour has NOTHING to do with it. You ever been to a ghetto? Well I’ll tell you something, I grew up in one. I know what niggers are like.

If you want to talk about China send a pm, don’t write an essay here. I’m going to stop wasting my time posting here. I hope you had a happy nigger day.

Oh and one last thing. We lost the Opium War not because we were racist, but because we were arrogant.

Europeans were racist too, they viewed all others as inferiors during the colonial ages, yet they conquered the world. Your argument is invalid.

Me: You say everywhere there are black people, it’s a ‘filthy, crime filled, disease ridden, poverty stricken, piece of shit.’ If you are saying that black people are inherently predisposed to making places like this, which I think you are, then you are saying skin color is the issue or, more specifically, that black skin color is the issue. Please refute if I’ve misread you.

Yes, I have been to a ghetto. I know what people from the ghetto are like. I fail to see how black people from the ghetto differ from other people from the ghetto, but I may simply be unobservant.

We were arrogant in believing we were superior to the ‘barbarians.’ Tell me that’s not racism.

Yes, Europeans at one point conquered the world. Then various colonies gained their independence. Beyond the Native Americans, England and its superiority complex lost the United States in the American Revolution. Hitler and his Aryan superiority complex lost World War II to the Allies. So no, Europeans did not conquer the world. My argument is still valid.”

I am awaiting a response. If there’s one thing in the entire world that can get me upset, it’s racism. It’s 2012, people. You should know better. God knows I’m not perfectly tolerant, but I try.

Last week was my birthday and I didn’t feel very well waking up on that morning.

I went downstairs for breakfast, hoping my wife would say, “Happy Birthday!” and possibly have a small present for me.

As it turned out, she barely said good morning. Let alone “Happy Birthday.”

I thought, “Well, that’s marriage for you. But the kids… They will remember.”

My kids came bounding downstairs to breakfast and didn’t say a word. So when I left for the office I felt pretty low, and somewhat despondent.

As I walked into my office my secretary Jane said, “Good Morning Boss. And by the way, Happy Birthday!” It felt a little better that at least someone had remembered.

I worked until one o’clock, when Jane knocked on my door. She said, “You know, it’s such a beautiful day outside, and it is your birthday. What do you say we go out to lunch, just you and me?” I said, “Thanks, Jane! That’s the greatest thing I’ve heard all day. Let’s go!”

We went to lunch. But we didn’t go where we normally would go. She chose instead at a quiet bistro with a private table. We had two martinis each and I enjoyed the meal tremendously.

On the way back to the office Jane said, “You know, it’s such a beautiful day. We don’t need to go straight back to the office, do we?”

I responded, “I guess not. What do you have in mind?” She said, “Let’s drop by my apartment. It’s just around the corner.”

After arriving at her apartment Jane turned to me and said, “Boss, if you don’t mind, I’m going to step into the bedroom for just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

“Ok,” I nervously replied.

She went into the bedroom and, after a couple of minutes she came out carrying a HUGE birthday cake… followed by my wife, my kids, and dozens of my friends and co-workers, all singing “Happy Birthday.”

And I just sat there.

On the couch.

Naked.

The poet Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” Love is why I am standing here today, to share with all of you the love that my grandmother, Janice Wong, shared with me. My earliest memories with her are those of her babysitting me after preschool. I would walk into the kitchen and tell her stories from my day, what I learned, or whom I played with. She would look up from what she was doing and say, “Oh yeah?” with a knowing look. Everyday I would strive to have something new to tell her, for as wide as the gap in life is between a five year old and his grandmother, during those moments, I felt as though I could share a small part of my world with her, as she shared hers with me.
Grandpa was always the character, and Grandma always the composure. Grandma would often cook up delicious meals for our family and afterwards, we would sit around the dinner table exchanging stories and smiles. Grandpa would invariably share one of his own and I would always sneak a glance at Grandma, to see her amused smile and the ever-present twinkle in her eye. I treasured those fleeting moments because I knew, in those instances, all of our collective troubles and worries were gone, if only for just those split seconds. When Grandpa passed away, Grandma became the emotional backbone of our family. Her strength and resilience became our strength and resilience, and we grew closer than ever before.
Grandma and Grandpa raised four children, two sons and two daughters. Her children raised five grandchildren in turn. I am thankful Grandma was able to see us all grow and blossom into young adults. I am thankful that we have reached an age where we are old enough to recognize every sacrifice she made for us, for our entire family. We are her legacy and I know that within us , we each carry her love and spirit. We share her with every person we come into contact with. We share her with each other, recognizing the integrity of the common bond that holds us together, family.
Grandma was one person. We are many. Yet she was able to reach all of us in some way, shape or form. Her capacity to give was boundless, never asking anything in return. She demonstrated her love for us through her actions. These included every hug, and every smile, every laugh and every conversation. One could say she became more than just a person to us. She became an ideal for us to continually aspire to, a person who provided unfailingly, gave generously, and loved, loved unconditionally.
“Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” By sharing with each other the love that Grandma shared with us, her memory will forever live on in our hearts.

I love Caliber, a group of four photographers based in my beloved San Francisco. Their work is always crisp and never cliche, often beautiful but always appealing. I was scrolling through their most recent pictures while listening to the latest Bat for Lashes album, Two Suns, and it was one of those rare moments in my life when two otherwise unrelated entities found themselves in perfect harmony. There is so much of The City that I haven’t seen and Caliber is opening up my eyes slowly, day by day, to what I’m missing out on.

Caliber SF

I have a guilty pleasure. Two, rather. I stay up really late at night and watch fitness infomercials and Spanish soap operas. I can’t stay away from them. I watch fitness infomercials to keep up with the new gadgets and equipment people come up with and the clever ways with which they attempt to peddle their wares among the unsuspecting public. The main reason that I watch fitness infomercials specifically is probably because I lead a very typical American college student lifestyle and I need motivation to get off my ass. So far, no luck. But I do love analyzing the actors they hire for the infomercials and criticizing, for example, the lack of definition on an asscheek here or an abdominal there. I just know that I could end up better, is all. (See, there’s my self-confidence!) It’s kind of a mental hobby that I don’t share/do with anyone else. The irony is that I’m really fit but think that I’m not. I also find other infomercials to be usually entertaining but the pitchmen, I hate them so. Billy Mays (OxyClean) Vince Shlomi (ShamWow) are two men that I very much despise, but I am forced to admire their skill at their trade. Spanish soap operas are great. Who doesn’t want to fantasize about chesty non-English speaking 20-something year old Spanish women engaged in unnecessary but entirely amusing romantic drama with overly serious 30-something year old Spanish men with bad hair and worse acting skills? A tie in: I’ve found that the majority of Spanish language programming is very breast-centric. Even on daytime talk shows, many of the hosts are configured for the camera in as sexual a manner as possible, even if said hosts are, to put it lightly, just a touch past their primes. Seriously, watch some Spanish language programming and note the proliferation of boob. I’m fairly sure that this isn’t just my overactive libido talking as well. It’s a phenomenon!

At any rate, what is with me and these month-or-two-at-a-time blogging hiatuses? (Oh, and you don’t have to look that one up. I know that hiatuses is a proper plural form for hiatus.) It’s summer now, so no excuses.

Gonzales – Working Together (Boys Noize Vox Remix)

My Vitriol with Always: Your Way